


Spring Break

by the_grouch



Series: Keep it in the Fam [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, Kink Meme, Modern AU, Multi, Smut, Spring Break, Threesome - F/F/M, mild objectification, sorority-sisters, suggestion of past sibling relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_grouch/pseuds/the_grouch
Summary: “Your boyfriend,” Octavia spits, oblivious to the fact that she’s stealing Clarke’s sun as she leans petulantly on the back of the beach chair. “Is driving me nuts.”“You mean your brother?” Clarke asks, opening her eyes and looking up at Octavia’s long, thin form. Octavia’s in a bright orange bikini halter top, pulling her pretty, soft tits high on her chest. She’s in nothing else but tiny jogging shorts, split at the sides so that Clarke can where the liner meets the crease of her thigh. Clarke pushes lightly on Octavia’s thigh so that she’ll move and stop blocking her sun, and her friend makes a noise of disgust and flops back into the beach chair next to her, sprawling and loose limbed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings, they are accurate. If you chose to read further and then leave me comments about how you don't like the content of this fic, your comment will be deleted <3

A shadow falls over her face and Clarke frowns. She rolls her head, waits for a beat, but the shadow stays. “What?” She asks.

“Your boyfriend,” Octavia spits, oblivious to the fact that she’s stealing Clarke’s sun as she leans petulantly on the back of the beach chair. “Is driving me nuts.”

“You mean your brother?” Clarke asks, opening her eyes and looking up at Octavia’s long, thin form. Octavia’s in a bright orange bikini halter top, pulling her pretty, soft tits high on her chest. She’s in nothing else but tiny jogging shorts, split at the sides so that Clarke can where the liner meets the crease of her thigh. Clarke pushes lightly on Octavia’s thigh so that she’ll move and stop blocking her sun, and her friend makes a noise of disgust and flops back into the beach chair next to her, sprawling and loose limbed.

“Whatever,” Octavia says. Clarke rolls her head to look at her, and Octavia’s already stretched out, face tilted up to the sun, her big chunky sunglasses covering her eyes. There’s a simmering energy underneath her skin, and downturn of her pretty mouth and a pinch between her eyebrows.

“What’d he do?” Clarke asks her and Octavia huffs.

“He’s just-,” Octavia mutters, flicking her hand in annoyance. “Here, where can I get one of those?” She waves vaguely at Clarke’s pina colada, and then cranes her neck for a resort staffer. Seeing none, she settles for stealing Clarke’s instead.

“Hey, Octavia,” Clarke complains. “I just got that.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been out here all morning. You’ve probably had like two already.”

“It’s eleven in the morning, Octavia.”

“So three then?”

“Shut up,” Clarke says, resettling on her beach chair. What is spring break for, if not for sun, sand, water and coconut flavored alcohol? Octavia fits her lips around the straw and gives it a long suck and Clarke watches her for a moment before turning her head away and giving up the recovery of her drink as a lost cause. “Fine, but you’re buying my next one.”

“Bellamy can buy both of them,” Octavia says, still petulant even as she’s sucking on the blue straw. Clarke raises an eyebrow at her, but Octavia just shrugs. She’s been on a shorter fuse with her brother since Spring Fling, nothing so extreme that Clarke worries something broke between the two siblings, but there’s a restless energy in her that Bellamy seems to set off, the quick temper that Octavia’s always had faster to react to Bellamy’s usual brusqueness and teasing alike. Nothing else has changed since that afternoon above the party, hasn’t even come up in conversation between any of them as far as Clarke knows. For the most part she’s written it off as a one time deal, all of them tipsy and adventurous and tottering on a line that had felt thrilling and dark and beautiful.

Clarke closes her eyes again and gives it up. The Blakes had managed to be mostly civil with each other for their near week long trip in the Keyes, Clarke figures they’re overdue for at least one big vacation blow out before Clarke and Octavia head back to school and Bellamy goes back to work at the rodeo.

And, Clarke thinks, if Octavia’s ticked off, then Bellamy definitely is. It sets off a little kick in her body. Bellamy likes to fuck when he’s angry, likes it to be a little rough both ways, likes handprints and bite marks and making her come. Clarke sits up and the warm breeze makes the sweat on her forehead and back feel cool. She pulls on the pretty white wrap dress she’d worn out onto the deck and wiggles her feet into her thonged sandals.

“Well, I’m going to head in,” Clarke says, and taps Octavia on the nose with one finger.

“Tell Bellamy he sucks,” Octavia advises and Clarke snorts.

“Don’t get sunburned.” Octavia is so fair skinned, even more so than Clarke is, that she burns fast. And there’s so much far skin on display. Clarke brushes her fingers up Octavia’s neck and down the sharp line of her jaw. Octavia indulges it and then bats her hand away.

“Don’t you start too,” she says darkly.

Clarke finds Bellamy just off the beach, at the little tiki themed bar that’s situated equidistant from the lap pool and the sand. His hair is wet when Clarke scratches her fingers over the back of his neck, and he turns to find her.

“You made Octavia steal my drink,” Clarke accuses fondly, fitting herself into his side. “I need another.”

“I did?” Bellamy asks, sounding exasperated. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Your sister thinks differently.”

Bellamy tsks under his breath and squeezes Clarke’s side. “What do you want?” he asks, pulling her further into him.

“Sex on the beach,” Clarke says and then turns her face into his shoulder and bites hard at the muscle there. Bellamy barely flinches against her, but he slides his hand up the back of her neck and grips it while he orders it for her. When the bartender turns away, he gives Clarke a little shake and hauls her back so he can look at her.

“Can’t fuck you on this beach, Clarke,” he murmurs to her. “That’s public indecency.” He nips at her jaw, presses his thumb into the tendon on the back of her neck and yeah, he would if he could.

“Good thing we’ve got a suite,” Clarke says against his lips and feels the way he smirks against her before giving her a quick kiss, filthy and hot with the tease of his teeth.

“Yeah, good thing,” Bellamy repeats and then lets her go, passes her the pink drink from the counter and tosses down a few bills for a tip. “C’mon.”

They make it into the elevator before Bellamy’s got her pressed up against the glass mirrored walls. “Up,” he growls and hefts Clarke up so that she’s sitting on the hand bar, precariously balanced so she wraps her legs around his hips. Bellamy presses into her and kisses her, mean and hard and groaning when she nips at his tongue. “God, I want to fuck you,” he mumbles at her, pulls her wrap open and gets his hands under to pull the cups of her bikini to the side so he can palm her tits.

Clarke pulls him closer with her heel pressed into his back, licks sloppily over his lips so that Bellamy’s breath stutters and he rocks his hips into her. He’s hard in his swim shorts and Clarke bites at him, slides a hand between them to squeeze at his cock.

“Yeah,” Clarke pants, arching for the way Bellamy pinches at her. “You can fuck me. Gonna let me ride you?”

“Fuck yes,” Bellamy growls as their elevator dings to a stop at their floor. He pulls his hands away from her tits and crosses her coverup back across her chest. “Go on,” he urges her, pulling her down off the handrail and swatting affectionately at her ass. “Back to bed.”

Clarke giggles and pulls Bellamy with her, gets him to crowd her up against the door and kiss her, mouth at her neck while she gets their cardkey in the slot and they fall through the door. Her wrap dress is on the ground in seconds, and then it’s just her scrappy bikini bottoms and the pulled open bikini top framing her tits, and Bellamy’s hands hungry on her skin. He drags them up her thighs and makes to pick her up and carry her to their bed, but Clarke wriggles away at the last second.

“What?” she teases him when his eyes flash. “Come on,” she drags him back into a kiss and leads him that way, somehow both of them getting their drinks down on a flat surface while she grips Bellamy’s hair and sucks his tongue into her mouth, strokes it teasingly with her own. Bellamy groans into her, barely notices where she’s guiding them until she pulls him onto the bed.

Bellamy is half way through following her onto the mattress when he slows and frowns. “That’s Octavia’s,” he says, a little accusingly, looking at the floral shawl left across the bed just behind Clarke. “This is O’s bed.”

Clarke cocks her head up at him, scooches back down so she’s pressed up against him and can fit her mouth over his, kiss him hot and wet and deep. “It’s not like she’s _in_ it,” Clarke whispers and gets a hand down to play with his cock again, stroking the head where it’s trapped against his thigh. “Huh, Bellamy? She won’t know.”

Bellamy groans and bites at her. “You did this on purpose,” he mutters but he leans into her and Clarke flops back and pulls him with her so that he’s blanketing her body, pushing her down into the mattress. After a week of use, the sheets smell like sunblock and Octavia’s perfume and Clarke sees it catch Bellamy a little by surprise. He buries his nose in her throat instead and kisses at her.

Clarke sighs and arches up for him, lets her tits press into Bellamy’s chest so that he bites hard enough to bruise. She wraps her legs back around his waist and whimpers when Bellamy rocks into her. His cock is hot and hard through skimpy layers of bathing suits and Clarke’s mouth waters. “Hey, roll over,” Clarke insists, pushing at Bellamy’s shoulder and Bellamy resists for a moment just to feel her struggle a little under his weight before he lets her flip him over.

“Yeah, Clarke?” he growls. “You gonna ride me?”

“In a minute,” Clarke promises, leaning forward to kiss him and then arching up a little bit so her tits are right above his mouth. Bellamy pulls one of her nipples between his lips and sucks on it, slow and indulgent, lets his teeth scrape lightly over it. “Want to suck your cock first.”

Bellamy makes a noise that vibrates over Clarke’s nipple and she shivers, grips his head closer and sighs as Bellamy gives her long slow sucks, long laps of his tongue.

“Such sweet tits,” Bellamy whispers and pinches at her other nipple so that Clarke whines and squirms. She pulls his head back by his hair and gives him a sharp kiss before sliding down his body.

Bellamy’s dick is flushed red and dark when she works it free of his swim trunks. Bellamy rocks his hips up, the head of his cock brushing over her lips and Clarke spits on his dick, works her palm over the head of his cock to get it slick.

“Fuck that’s nice,” Bellamy grunts and reaches down to gather her hair in his fist. He piles it on top of her head and then just holds it there, keeping it clear of her face so he can watch. “Come on,” he groans when Clarke just jacks him slowly and looks up at him. “Gimme those pretty lips.”

He reaches down and thumbs at her mouth, presses against the fullness of her bottom lip and Clarke licks at him. “Yeah, that’s what I want. You gonna lick my cock like that?”

“You have no concept of patience,” Clarke snarks at him and then pulls against the grip he has in her hair to lick wetly against the head of his cock.

“Jesus,” Bellamy groans. “How can I be patient when I know I get that?”

Clarke just smirks and licks at him again, over and over, flat and wet and messy, not taking him into her mouth but just laving her tongue around his cock. She flicks at the frenulum, keeping her tongue pointed and glances up at Bellamy as she does it. She wonders if it makes him think, wants him to think, of watching Octavia eat her out; of the same tongue movement Octavia used on Clarke’s clit as she looked up at Bellamy.

Bellamy’s color is high in his cheeks, eyes a little glassy and he exhales sharply. “Clarke,” he croaks. “You’re killing me, babe. Just suck on it, huh?”

“You don’t like this?” Clarke teases him, then presses her tongue along the soft underside of the head, jacks her hand sharp and focused right underneath. The visual alone, she knows, is enough to drive Bellamy crazy.

Bellamy fists a hand in the sheets and swears sharply. “Fuck, Clarke. Feeling filthy today, aren’t you?”

“Mm, maybe,” Clarke agrees, and gives in and closes her lips over Bellamy’s cock. His whole body jerks and his hand tightens in her hair as Clarke sucks slow and deep on his cock. He tastes good: musky and like _man_ , a salty earthiness that Clarke always thinks is such a nice complement to the iodonic sea-tang of cunt.

Clarke pulls off and Bellamy swears when she goes back to slowly stroking his cock. “Babe,” he groans.

“Tell me something,” Clarke says, lips right against Bellamy’s cock. “What’d you do to piss off Octavia?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy whines. “Really?”

“I’m just curious,” Clarke whispers, lipping at his cock, giving it a wet kiss and teases at taking him back into her mouth.

“I just,” Bellamy grunts, and tries to lift his hips to get his cock back in her mouth but Clarke pulls her head away. “Christ, I just asked if that was all she was wearing, the shorts, the top.”

“Think she was wearing too little?” Clarke tries and drags her tongue up Bellamy’s cock, root to tip.

“Fuck,” Bellamy swears. “No, just-- fuck, babe, please.”

“Just what?” Clarke presses and blows gently on Bellamy’s balls.

“Just- just didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable,” Bellamy says, a little strained. “You wear a cover up when you walk down to the beach.”

“So protective,” Clarke laughs, and she squeezes Bellamy’s cock. “You didn’t want all those big city boys from last night checking out her legs? How tight her stomach is?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy splutters, hands seizing in the covers, and she takes pity on him and sucks Bellamy’s cock back into her mouth and goes back to working him up.

Bellamy lets out a deep, slow breath as Clarke fits him into the back of his throat and suckles at him, lets it get wet and a little sloppy. He always goes languid when she finally sucks his dick, always seems to melt into the bed like there’s no better feeling in the world. It’s flattering, honestly: Clarke loves that she can treat her man so right.

She settles down between his legs and loses herself in the act for a while, the slick slide of skin against her lips, the way Bellamy’s precum spurts in her mouth when she focuses on the head, the deep, curling want in her stomach at Bellamy’s soft, gruff noises.

“God,” Bellamy grunts when Clarke finally pulls of his cock with a slurp, and he drags her up to kiss him. She’s a bit of mess, lips swollen, chin wet, eyes watering a little from sucking cock, but Bellamy just holds her face between his hands so he can kiss her even as she catches her breath in gasps.

“You taste like cock,” Bellamy tells her, biting at her lip.

“Yours,” Clarke breathes.

“Uh-huh,” Bellamy growls. “Damn right you do. Come on. C’mere.” He pulls her further up the bed so she’s straddling his waist and helps her get her bikini bottoms down her legs, holds onto her hips while she kicks them all the way off. He slides his fingers over her labia and gets them wet before he lifts them to her mouth. Clarke grins at him and bites at his fingers, gets a taste of herself as Bellamy lines up his cock and rubs it over her cunt, at her clit.

“Lie back,” Clarke insists, pushing back at Bellamy’s shoulders so he flops back down again. “I want to fuck you.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” Bellamy laughs, crossing his arms behind his head and bracing his feet on the mattress so Clarke has more leverage. “My girl’s feeling all feisty.”

“You just have that effect,” Clarke tells him and grips his cock, lets the head push into her. “Fuck,” she pants at the stretch.

“Feel good?” Bellamy asks, reaching one hand up to brush over one nipple and then other.

“Mhmm,” Clarke sighs and lowers herself a little more, braces herself on Bellamy’s hips so she can rock her hips right there, enjoy the bump and drag of just his cockhead right where she likes it. “You fuck me so good, Bellamy.”

“You look so good taking it,” Bellamy says. “Come on, a little more. You feel so good, take a little more.”

Clarke lets herself drop further down his cock and whines with how good it is. She lets herself indulge in it, lets herself go slow until Bellamy is all the way inside her, and she feels full and stretched and her clit aches with how sweet it is. Bellamy’s got a fine sheen of sweat on his chest and he’s murmuring at her, hands flexing at her hips.

“Look at that, all the way in you,” he whispers like she doesn’t take it on the regular. “So fucking sweet, so fucking tight on my cock. Your cunt’s so good, Clarke.”

“Feels so good,” Clarke whines, rocks on him so her clit grinds against Bellamy’s pubic bone. They get a little handsy and rough then as Bellamy bucks his hips up and Clarke bounces on him, dropping down on him hard to get him as deep as possible, both of them lost in the slap of skin on skin, until-

“Are you fucking kidding?” Octavia snaps. Bellamy’s hands spasm on Clarke’s hips, but Clarke just turns her head. She’s just found a roll of her hips that’s pretty close to perfect and she doesn’t especially feel like stopping. Octavia is a dark, thin figure in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed under her tits, looking murderous.

“Hey,” Clarke breathes. “Get too hot for you outside?”

“That’s my bed,” Octavia says, still sounding pissed, but Clarke catches the flicker of her eyes to Clarke’s tits and back up to her face. Notices how she distinctly doesn’t look at Bellamy.

“I’ve fucked on your bed before,” Clarke reminds her. “That time with the Beta guys? Remember how they wanted to watch two sisters make out while they fucked us?”

Octavia doesn’t let Clarke distract her with the memory. “That is my bed and that is my brother your fucking on it.”

“You weren’t using it,” Clarke laughs a little and at Bellamy’s pained breath, finally stills. She scratches her nails down Bellamy’s chest and smirks at him. He gives her an all too knowing look and Clarke shrugs.

“Hey,” Octavia snaps, always has hated feeling ignored. “Don’t keep touching each other. Get off my bed. Go fuck in your own room.”

“No,” Clarke says softly and leans forward so that her tits drag over Bellamy’s chest and she can kiss him. Bellamy kisses her back, a little hesitant, but not uninterested.

“Excuse the fuck out of you, what?” Octavia growls and Clarke smiles and sits back up.

“Octavia,” she says in the voice that always makes Octavia listen to her like this. “I’m going to make Bellamy come, and then I’m going to come, and _then_ we’ll go back to our room. So you have two options.” Bellamy stares up at her wide eyed, and Clarke walks her fingers over his mouth. “Go, or stay.”

She smiles at her friend, watches the shock and conflicted interest and mortification that flashes over Octavia’s face so fast that she almost can’t keep up with it. But she knows Octavia. “I’m not going to stay and watch your perv show,” Octavia snaps.

Clarke shrugs and lifts her hips up and then rocks down again. It makes Bellamy grunt and it feels so good that she can’t help doing it again.

“Then why are you still here?” She asks her.

“I- my shawl,” Octavia snaps. “I needed it.”

“So get it,” Clarke says and grins up at Octavia. “It’s right here, under Bellamy.”

Both of the Blakes suck in a sharp breath and Octavia hesitates before she holds out her hand. “No,” Clarke says and circles her hips, feels her breath catch at the way it grinds her clit against Bellamy. “Come get it.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says for the first time and Clarke looks down at him. She folds forward so that she blankets Bellamy entirely and hovers her lips above his.

“Hey, you,” Clarke whispers, grinning. “Octavia can grab her shawl can’t she? Cover up a bit, hm?”

“You,” Bellamy says, running his hands down Clarke’s thighs and then back up again. “Are all sorts of trouble.” he rocks his hips up into her, fucking her deeper and Clarke gasps and drops her forehead to his shoulder.

“Trouble that you like,” Clarke manages and laughs along with Bellamy’s pained, strained laugh. He doesn’t disagree, just wraps an arm around her back and keeps her trapped against his chest for the next few rolls of his hips. It knocks pretty noises from Clarke’s lips and she grinds down against Bellamy until a flicker of movement next to the bed catches her eye.

Octavia lingers there, biting her lip. She’s not good at being ignored, can’t keep up the pretense of her act as an excuse to stay when Clarke ignores her, but doesn’t have the confidence to believe she’s welcome. It’s new territory, doing this sober. It’s new territory, with Bellamy actively involved. Clarke softens, gives Bellamy one more kiss and then slows their movements.

“There you are,” Clarke says, pushing up on Bellamy’s chest. He lets her go, hands sliding to feel up her arms, squeezing at her biceps. “Do you want your shawl or do you want a kiss?”

Octavia looks down at her shawl, wrinkled where it lies half under Bellamy’s naked back. Clarke watches the stubbornness war with Octavia’s inherent desire for affection and love. For a moment, Clarke thinks she might actually snatch the shawl, just to prove a point, just work herself up further, but then Bellamy shifts and slides a hand across the mattress to touch Octavia’s kneecap.

“Stay, O,” he says, voice gravely. “It’s okay.”

A tension eases out of Octavia and she sways towards Clarke. Clarke catches her face in her hands and draws her down into a kiss, keeping it sweet to coax Octavia closer. “Come on,” Clarke whispers. “You’re ok. Come sit with us.”

It’s nice to hold Bellamy inside her, run a hand over his abs and stroke at his chest while she kisses Octavia, perched precariously on the edge of the bed. It’s slow kisses, gentle, unlike the kisses they shared the night of Spring Fling, drunk and handsy and giggling. This is a little more careful, reassuring, because yes, she and Octavia have hooked up multiple times before, but in this context, twice, it’s a whole lot bigger.

Bellamy seems content to wait them out. He keeps one hand on Clarke’s thigh, thumb turning circles, the other tucked behind his head. Clarke can feel his dick twitch inside her whenever there’s an especially loud smack of her lips against Octavia’s and she glances at Bellamy, lifts an eyebrow. He grins back at her, gives her thigh a squeeze.

“Mm,” Clarke hums, pulling back from Octavia with a last little kiss pressed against her soft lips, and strokes a hand through her hair. “You’re such a sweet kisser, Octavia. Does Bellamy know that?”

There’s a charged, subtle glance that the Blakes share, just like the first night this happened. Clarke sees the way Octavia’s cheeks turn pink under her freckles, feels the unspoken _something_ the crackles underneath, the secret history she doesn’t know.

“I would know just by looking,” Bellamy says when Octavia hesitates. “You two together are something else. Keep going,” he says, laughing a little. “I’m good right where I am.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Clarke says, scrunching her nose up at him and gets a flat palmed smack against her thigh, louder than it is hard.

“That lip of yours,” Bellamy says, hips flexing. “It’s gonna get you in trouble.”

“I thought I was the trouble.”

“You guys talk way too much for fucking,” Octavia complains, and turns Clarke’s chin back to her to kiss her. It’s rougher this time, Octavia a little more confident now, trying to prove she can play too. Clarke grins, opens her mouth and lets Octavia’s tongue sweep in. It’s wet and hot and so good that Clarke has to rock a little on Bellamy, get a little more friction, and Octavia mewls prettily as Clarke sucks on her tongue.

“You’re overdressed,” Clarke whispers against her lips. “Should we fix that?”

Octavia’s staring at her mouth, just nods a little as she leans back in for another kiss and Clarke cups her face again and pulls her closer so that Octavia has to knee-shuffle further onto the bed. There’s the soft sound of fabric, and Clarke peeks her eyes open to see Bellamy run a hand over the sheets and and stroke a finger over the bridge of Octavia’s foot. When she does nothing more than shiver against Clarke, Bellamy trails his fingertips up her thigh and over her hip and flattens his palm on her back. Octavia makes a noise then, as Bellamy slides the flat of his hand up her spine to finger the clasp of her halter top.

With a soft snick, Bellamy’s fingers undo the metal hooks and the fabric springs loose over Octavia’s small, pretty tits. Clarke slides her hands up underneath and palms them, feels Octavia’s nipples tighten as Clarke gives her a little massage. Bellamy’s hand stays on Octavia’s back, rubbing soothing and soft at the pale skin.

Octavia lets out a small, breathy sigh and nuzzles at Clarke’s face, arches into her hands, and Clarke recognizes her tells that she’s relaxing. That she’s turned on. Clarke ghosts her fingers down Octavias sides and then back up. Her fingers slide into Bellamy’s at the halter strings around Octavia’s neck. They tug them loose together.

“Lie down,” Clarke says, pulling the bikini top away and running her fingers up Octavia’s neck like she had on the beach. “Right there, next to your big brother.” Octavia glances back at Bellamy and he lifts his hand off the back of her neck, opens his arm up so Octavia has room to scoot back and stretch out next to him.

She does so with Clarke’s coaxing and gentle words, Bellamy holding still and solid next to her. She when finally settles, head on two fluffed pillows and Bellamy’s arm stretched out over her head, his fingers just brushing the wisps of baby hair by her ears where his hand curls to cradle her in.

They look good together, same dark hair, dark eyes and smattering of freckles, differing tones of skin and build. A matched set in some ways, completely at odds with each other in others. Clarke leans forward to kiss Bellamy, shares the taste of Octavia’s lips with him and then slides just the few inches between them and kisses Octavia again. “You should know,” Clarke whispers against Octavia’s mouth, sliding the hand she doesn’t have braced on Bellamy’s chest up to play with Octavia’s nipples. “That before you joined us, I was sucking Bellamy’s cock.”

Octavia makes a shocked, hot sound as Clarke kisses her again. Clarke makes it dirty, slides her tongue between Octavia’s lips and fucks her mouth with it, draws Octavia’s tongue into her own mouth and gives it a hot, slow suck. Octavia’s hands seize at Clarke’s sides, like she wants to pull Clarke fully on top of her, but Clarke doesn’t let her.

“No, Octavia,” Clarke says gently and sits back up, rocks down on Bellamy again and grins when he groans. Octavia turns pink again as she sneaks a glance at Bellamy. His groan turns into a chuckle and he lifts his hips, trying get back at Clarke as he grinds his cock into her. “But if you take off your shorts, I’ll fuck you too.” It comes out a little breathier than she intended, but Bellamy is sneaking his hand higher up her thigh, eyes on her cunt and Clarke can’t help it.

Octavia lifts her small, pretty hips and wriggles out of her jogging shorts. Clarke grins at her as she circles her hips on Bellamy and runs her hand down Octavia’s sternum to the trimmed thatch of dark hair above her cunt. She scratches her nails through it and snakes her thumb down to tap lightly against Octavia’s clit. “More,” Octavia whines and bucks up and Bellamy bites back a fierce grin.

“I know,” Clarke says, to both of them, grinning at Bellamy and his delight, pressing down harder on Octavia’s clit to give her more. Her thumb is wet when she pulls it away, and as Octavia whines in frustration, she swipes it over Bellamy’s dark nipple, just as his thumb finds her clit.

“Fuck,” they both grunt and Clarke shudders as she gets her fingers back on Octavia’s cunt and leans forward to lick at Bellamy’s nipple. It tastes like Octavia, sharp and good, with the familiar, soothing feel of Bellamy’s soft tissue beneath. Combined with Bellamy’s thumb turning a focused, rough circle on her clit, it’s almost too much for her to handle. She sits back up and has to lift up further on Bellamy’s cock and drop back down to change it up enough that she won’t come too soon, slides a finger into Octavia’s cunt at the same time.

Octaiva keens and lifts her hips up, her hands scrabbling at the sheets until she finds Bellamy’s side and she clutches at him. Her eyes are fixed on Clarke’s cunt, and Clarke can’t resist. She makes a show of it, lifts up a little further and fucks her fingers deeper into Octavia, first with two and then when Octavia starts shaking, three.

“Can you tell?” Clarke asks her, rolling her hips up further, exposing a little more of the shaft of Bellamy’s cock. “How big he is?” Octavia had kept her face tucked into Clarke’s neck, panting as she came down the night of Spring Fling as Bellamy had jerked off.

“Oh, fuck,” Octavia whimpers as Clarke drops down and both she and Bellamy grunt before she lifts slowly up again, a little further this time.

“I know,” Clarke pants. Bellamy’s thumb is still on her clit, playing with her, and the sight of both Bellamy and Octavia spread out beneath her is a lot. The fact that she’s fucking both of them at once is a lot. “I love fucking your brother. Fills me up just right.” She drops down again and curls her fingers into Octavia, loves the sounds she gets from both of them.

“Clarke, please,” Octavia whines and bucks her hips up helplessly. “Touch my clit.”

“Yeah?” Clarke laughs, and gets her thumb on her. Octavia’s whine of relief makes Clarke’s clit pulse and she fucks her harder on her fingers.

“Please, please, please,” Octavia mewls, thrashing on the bed, still watching the way Bellamy’s cock fucks in and out of Clarke. “I need-” Bellamy reaches across and pushes down gently on Octavia’s lower stomach, right above her pubic bone. Clarke can feel the weight of his hand pushing down against her own fingers and she taps up to say hello and to rub sweet on Octavia at the same time.

“That’s so fucking hot,” Bellamy groans and his hips bucking up, nearly unsettling Clarke completely. “Fuck, Jesus Christ.”

“Octavia,” Clarke says, working her hips and her fingers. “Give me your hand.” She catches Octavia’s free hand and presses it on her own stomach, pushes it in so Octavia can feel Bellamy’s cock inside Clarke. Bellamy groans and fucks up harder into her. Octavia’s eyes go hot and dark and her cunt gets tighter, sweeter on Clarke’s fingers.

Clarke knows her man, knows his tells the way she knows Octavia’s, and gives him one last pulsing squeeze with her cunt before she lifts off him just as he starts to come. Bellamy swears and thrusts against her, rubbing his cockhead along the length of her cunt and clit, his come white and thick on her skin and labia. Octavia makes a high, shocked noise and Clarke feels the contraction of her cunt too, listens to the shaky way she moans. It’s all so blindingly hot she almost can’t see, has to resist holding Bellamy’s cock against her clit and grinding on it because she can’t finish, not yet.

“Here,” Bellamy murmurs, tugging a little on Clarke’s hips. “Let me finish you off, babe.” Octavia reaches up to pet at Clarke’s hip, her flush high on her cheeks the same way Bellamy’s is high on his.

“No,” Clarke laughs a little and eases her fingers from inside Octavia. “Octavia can help me out. Come here, baby,” she coos, scooting between Bellamy and Octavia on the bed and leaning back into the warmth of Bellamy’s chest as he sits up. “Come lick me clean.”

Octavia barely hesitates, rolling onto her stomach and worming her way through Clarke’s legs. Clarke’s cunt is still covered in Bellamy’s come and at Octavia’ first, curious lap at her, Clarke lifts her fingers that were inside Octavia and taps them against Bellamy’s lips. “You want to taste?”

Bellamy closes his lips over fingers and laves his tongue at them soft, and gentle as Octavia sighs into Clarke’s cunt and sucks on her clit. Octavia has come on her lips, smeared on her cheeks and chin and her tongue is wet and generous and sweet. Clarke spreads her legs wider and sighs, content to let them take care of her.

There are worse ways to end Spring Break.


End file.
